Logan Sutherland was strolling toward the hotel lobby of the
exclusive Alleria Resort when the jarring sound of
shattering glass reverberated from the cocktail lounge.
"Price of doing business," Logan muttered. But he
stopped and listened for another moment.
And heard nothing. Not a sound.
"Hell," he said, and checked his watch. The
conference call was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes.
He didn't have time for this. But the ominous silence
made him change direction and head for the bar.
Logan and his twin brother, Aidan, had made their fortunes
designing and operating exotic, upscale cocktail bars in
highend hotels all over the world. So the sound of breaking
glassware was rarely a cause for alarm. But in his
experience, the breakage was invariably followed by raucous
cheers, jeers and laughter. Never silence.
Silence meant something was wrong. And Logan Sutherland was
not a man who allowed things to go wrong without doing
something about it.
He walked into the casually elegant bar and noted that the
sound level still hadn't risen, even though the place
was busy and most of the tables were occupied by hotel
guests having a good time. Cocktail waitresses and waiters
moved swiftly from table to table, serving drinks and
appetizers. The quiet was disconcerting.
A small group of his people were gathered in a knot at the
far end of the long bar, all of them crouched on the floor.
He approached the head bartender on duty. "What's
going on, Sam?"
Sam flicked his chin toward the other end of the bar.
"New cocktail waitress dropped a full tray of drinks."
"Why is it so quiet?"
Sam took a few seconds to study the drink station halfway
down the long bar where two junior bartenders were
efficiently refilling the drink orders. Then he turned and
made eye contact with Logan. "We're all a little
worried about her, boss."
"Why?" Logan glanced again at the small crowd.
"Did she cut herself?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Naw, she's just a real sweet
kid. It wouldn't be nice to laugh at her."
Logan frowned at the brawny former Marine, then turned to
get a better look at the new employee.
The small group of servers and busboys picked up the last of
the big chunks of broken glass and dispersed, heading back
to their own stations. One waitress remained as a busboy
swept the residual shards of glass into a dustpan. Then she
knelt down and, with several bar towels, sopped up the rest
of the liquid.
"Thank you so much, Paolo," the waitress said, and
squeezed the busboy's arm affectionately. He took the
clump of towels from her and she headed back to the drinks
station. That's when Logan got his first look at the
"real sweet kid." And felt a solid wall of heat
almost knock him off his footing.
His second thought was: Hope she's wearing
sunblock, because her skin was so pale and smooth and
creamy.
His first thought had been vividly X-rated and not
suitable for discussion in mixed company.
And none of that made him happy.
She was a classic redhead with a peaches-and-cream
complexion and a light dusting of freckles across her nose.
Thick, dark red hair tumbled down her back in rich, lustrous
waves. In her official uniform of bikini top and filmy
sarong, Logan couldn't help but notice she had a
world-class butt and perfect breasts.
She was tall, a quality Logan preferred in his
womennot that it mattered, since he didn't have
time for or interest in a relationship right now. On the
other hand, who said anything about a relationship? He could
always make time for sex. Maybe he ought to rethink his
schedule since staring at her was causing him to calculate
how quickly it would take to get her into his bed.
She walked with the sort of poise that some tall women
possessed naturally. That made the fact that she'd
spilled a large tray of drinks even more baffling to him,
since she didn't seem clumsy at all. On the contrary,
she appeared confident and self-assured. Smart. Hard to
believe she'd ever spilled anything in her life.
So what kind of game was she playing?
Logan thought of his tough bartender, Sam, calling her sweet
and worrying about her sensitivities. Well, Sam wouldn't
be the first man drawn in by a conniving, manipulative woman.
The woman in question finally noticed Logan and her eyes lit
up as she smiled directly at him. Okay, she was a stunner
for sure. Logan felt as if he were the only man in the room
and understood how his burly bartender had turned into such
a pussycat in her presence.
Her mouth was wide and sexy, her lips full and lush. Her
eyes were big and green and twinkled with an open
friendliness that seemed genuine. She'd probably been
practicing that generous smile forever. If nothing else, it
would certainly help her garner the big tips.
Of course, she wouldn't be getting many tips if she kept
spilling the customers' drinks. And that's why he
was here, lest he forgot.
Before he could step up and introduce himself, the two
bartenders finished her drink order and called her over.
"Oh, thank you, guys," she said, her voice as
appealing as her smile. "You're both so sweet."
Logan watched the experienced bartenders' faces redden
at the simple compliment, just as the woman pulled a small
notebook from her waistband and studied it for a moment. She
slipped the notebook away, then began arranging the drinks
carefully on the tray in some kind of circular order. When
she was finished, she grabbed the tray with both hands and
started to lift it. There was a sudden hush around the room
as the large tray bobbled awkwardly and the woman's eyes
widened.
Without thinking, Logan rushed to her. He whisked the tray
out of her hands, lifted it onto his shoulder and held it in
place with one hand. Then he looked down at her.
"Where's this going?"
"Oh, aren't you wonderful?" she said with
another wide-eyed smile. "It goes right over here."
She led the way to a four-top by the wall of windows
overlooking the white-sand beach. She gestured with her
hand. "These drinks are for Mr. and Mrs. McKee and their
friends."
"Hey, doll," the older man said. "I told you
I'd come and get those drinks for you, but it looks like
you found yourself a helper there."
A guest of the Alleria resort was willing to get his own
drinks for her? Okay, that was bad enough, but did this
guest actually think Logan was the waitress's lackey? It
was about time he and Ms. Clumsy had a long talk.
"Oh, Mr. McKee, thank you for offering," the
waitress said, then turned and patted Logan's arm.
"But all the servers here are so helpful that"
"It's no problem at all, sir," Logan
interrupted, lowering the drink tray onto the edge of the
table. He quickly passed the drinks out, then said as
affably as he could manage, "Enjoy your cocktails."
"You betcha, pal," Mr. McKee said and took a big sip
of his banana daiquiri. "Man, these go down smooth."
"Here you go, sweetie," Mrs. McKee said, and tucked
a fifty-dollar bill into the waitress's hand.
"That's for all your trouble."
"Oh, my goodness," the waitress said, staring at the
money, then back at her customers. "Thank you so much."
"No, thank you, doll." Mr. McKee winked.
"You're a cutie-pie and we're just sorry we
loaded you up with our orders."
She waved off the apology. "Oh, that's"
"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. McKee," Logan interrupted.
"Please enjoy your day." Then he grabbed the
waitress's arm and led her gently but firmly away from
the table. He stopped at the bar, where he dropped off the
tray, then scooted her across the room and out the door.
"Wait," she protested, squirming against him.
"You have to let me go. I can't leave the lounge
right now. I'm working."
"We're going to have a little talk first," Logan
said, smiling grimly as he led her down the hall toward his
office.
"Stop," she insisted as she struggled to pull her
arm from his grasp. "Honestly, who do you think you
are?"
"At the moment I'm your employer," he said,
glaring down at her. "But I don't expect that status
to last much longer."
Grace cringed at his revelation. Of all the people to have
rescued her from another spilled tray of drinks, why did it
have to be one of the Sutherland brothers?
Before leaving for Alleria, Grace had done some cursory
research on Logan and Aidan Sutherland. They'd risen to
the top of the surfing world in their teenage years, then
parlayed their winnings into fancy nightclubs and bars all
over the world. Rumor had it they'd won their first bar
in a college poker game; but Grace didn't believe that
story was anything more than an urban legend.
The most recent story she'd read about the Sutherland
twins centered on them joining forces with their cousins,
the Duke brothers, who owned a number of luxurious resorts
on the West Coast.
Grace had seen photographs of the Sutherland men online, but
those pictures were all action shots of the brothers surfing
or sailing. None of them had shown how good-looking they
were up close, nor had the photos given her even one, tiny
warning of the disconcerting amount of physical power and
dynamism the man striding next to her would exude in person.
Halfway down the hall, her new boss stopped at a set of
double doors and flicked a plastic card through a security
slide. He ushered her through the door and into a large,
beautifully furnished hotel suite. An attractive sofa and
several overstuffed chairs in muted shades of chocolatebrown
and rich taupe were clustered at one end of the large room.
The other half of the room contained a set of large, elegant
office furniture along with all the usual equipment
necessary to run a twenty-first-century office.
"This is where you work?" She turned around slowly
to take it all in. Plantation shutters were opened to reveal
an entire wall of sliding glass doors that led to a wide
private terrace and showed off the spectacular view beyond
of palm trees, sunshine, pristine white sand and clear,
turquoise water.
It was one of the most beautiful sights Grace had ever seen
and she stopped to admire it for several long seconds.
"Nice view, isn't it?" Mr. Sutherland said.
"It's stunning," she said, and turned to look at
him. "You're so lucky."
"Yeah, it's good to be king," he said, and
flashed her a confident grin that made her knees go weak.
She rubbed her stomach and wondered if maybe she
should've had more to eat for breakfast than just
granola and mango juice, because her knees had never gone
weak before in her entire life.
But looking at him again, she realized she would just have
to learn to live with rubbery knees. He was tall and
imperious, she thought, with dark blue eyes that glimmered
with cynicism. She hoped there was some glint of empathy
underneath that cynicism.
He picked up the phone and when someone answered, he said,
"Reschedule the conference call for four
o'clock." Then he hung up and stared at Grace. She
knew she was in trouble but it didn't stop her from
enjoying the sight of those riveting blue eyes that seemed
to see right through her. His jaw was firm and strong and he
had a small cleft in his square chin. His nose was just
slightly crooked, which gave him a raffish charm she found
nonsensically alluring.
"Sit," he said brusquely, indicating one of the
plush chairs that faced the massive mahogany desk. She sat
quickly, then noticed that he'd chosen to remain
standing. The better to intimidate her, of course.
But that was fine. If these were to be her last few minutes
on the Caribbean island, she would be perfectly happy to
spend them staring at Mr. Sutherland. The man was stunningly
handsome and muscularnot that she'd seen any of
his actual muscles in person. Sadly, his impeccably tailored
black suit covered his rugged frame completely. But Grace
knew the man was built because of the way he'd so
casually taken that heavy drink tray from her hands and
lifted it up onto his shoulder so effortlessly.
Granted, before this trip to Alleria she hadn't gotten
out of her laboratory much, but she'd never seen
anything quite like him. His arms and shoulder muscles had
to be in remarkable condition. She itched to squeeze them.
And that was an absolutely ridiculous thought, she scolded
herself.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here," he said,
interrupting her pleasant daydream, "and bet that
you've never worked as a cocktail waitress before. Am I
right?"
She took a deep breath or two as she considered lying to
him, then changed her mind. She'd never been very good
at prevarication. Still, it wouldn't do to tell him
everything. But then she argued with herself, Oh, why not?
Finally she said, "Yes, you're right, but"
"That's all I wanted to know," he said pleasantly.
"You're fired."
"No!" she cried, gripping the arms of her chair.
"You can't fire me. Not yet."
"Not yet?" he repeated. "Why not? Because you
haven't had a chance to break my entire supply of
glassware?"
Her shoulders sagged. "No, of course not. But. .I
can't go home."
His eyes focused in on her. "What's your name?"
"It's Grace. Grace Farrell."
"Wait a minute." He cocked his head as though he
hadn't heard her correctly. "Your name is
Grace?"
She nodded gravely. "That's right."
"You're kidding." He chuckled, then leaned his
hip against his desk and began to laugh, a deep rich sound
that caused tingles to stir in her stomach.
What the heck was so funny about her name?
"Oh," she said, finally getting the joke. The very
lame joke, she might add. "Yes, well, I suppose
I wasn't very graceful out there."
"You think?" He snorted.
She blinked and sat up straighter in her chair. "You
don't have to be rude."
"Sweetheart, you're the one who lied on your job
application."
"I didn'tHow did you know I lied?" She
groaned inwardly. She couldn't even lie about lying.
That was just sad.
"Easy." He folded his arms across his impressive
chest in a move Grace knew was meant to daunt her. And it
was working, sort of. She was more than a bit overwhelmed by
him, if her inability to breathe was any indication.
"I don't hire inexperienced waitresses," he
continued. "Since we did hire you, your application
must've stated that you knew what you were doing. And
you obviously don't, which means you lied. And since you
no longer work for me, I can be as rude as I want."